Molly Hooper: Pathologist and
by Q-girl900
Summary: Sherlock begins seeing Ms. Hooper in a new light. What happens when he finds her at 221B a little worse for wear? (One shot)


"Where is she, John?" Sherlock asked expectantly.

"I don't understand what you're getting so worked up about. She's obviously in the morgue we just stepped in." His companion attempted to explain.

"Uggh. MOLLY! Case hurry!" As an after thought he added, "please."

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

"Well I'm simply trying to get-"

"Sherlock, Dr. Watson, he's right over here," the mousy pathologist said meekly having been startled by Mr. Holmes' earlier outburst.

"Thank you," John replied. Sherlock made no attempt to make conversation. Not bothering to say hello to Molly Hooper, he never did. But Molly never gave up on him totally. Utterly convinced he was more than just a machine that noticed things other people didn't.

'Never notices me,' she thought wistfully.

"Now, how long have you had this one?" Sherlock asked her.

"Three days."

"Wrong. Impossible. This man was murdered yesterday."

"But the body's been-"

"Well somewhere you messed up. Not a problem for me of course. Good luck sorting it out with your boss. Now, I bet if we just take a look here." The consulting detective lifted and eyelid on the man's body. "Aha! Now, this cannot be the proper body. Mr. Pensworth was known to have 'shocking blue eyes' the kind of blue that wouldn't dull much after death, you see. His are gray after being here a day."

"Three days," Molly corrected.

"No. One." He showed his evidence and left Miss Hooper in shock. "However, this man and the other one obviously had the same killer."

"Obviously," Dr. Watson mumbled.

"Do you know what this means?"

"He killed two people?" John said sarcastically.

"Yes. Two. A DOUBLE murder! Oh Christmas has come early! Yes!" Sherlock began to run out of the morgue without so much as goodbye.

Molly sighed and went back to her work. She sat for moment to calm her racing heart. "If you're such an arse then why do I still love you?"

-

Oh it hurt Sherlock deeply to speak to Molly that way. He couldn't help it. She was wrong. He would never admit it but he had wished she was right. He didn't want to tell her she hadn't done it right.

"Sherlock, what're you doing?" Mrs. Hudson asked from the doorway.

"Thinking." He replied monotonously.

"Oh. Want a cuppa?"

"No."

"Well I'll be downstairs. Where's John gone off to?"

"Date. That Mary women; he seems fond of her."

"Yes very. I'm heading out in a bit. Do try not to let the police trash the apartment too badly if they come."

"Indeed."

An hour later he heard Mrs. Hudson head out for the night. John would be staying with Mary. Sherlock was alone. Boredom reached him eventually.

He tried everything from violin to shooting at the wall. Nothing helped. His mind palace seemed to be totally sealed aside from a small room marked "Molly Hooper- pathologist and" that was all. The list unfinished. "Pathologist and what?" He asked Billy the Skull.

It was nearing midnight. Sherlock knew he wouldn't be sleeping much tonight as his mind was occupied with a "goldfish" named Molly Hooper. 'A pretty goldfish at least…" he thought.

"Damn it, Sherlock! Stop it!" He scolded himself.

Around two in the morning there was a haphazard knock on the door. He tried to ignore it, but it happened again.

"Come in!" He bellowed. He heard shuffling and a muffled yell so he went and got the door. Outside he found a rather disheveled Molly Hooper.

"Molly?"

"Sherlock Holmes! You! You bastard!"

"I don't follow." He scanned her quickly. 'Nice dress, been worn twice but not by her, a loan, shorter than anything she'd wear on a date, smells of liquor, she doesn't usually drink, obvious by her reaction to the alcohol, hmm night with some friends, obviously got her worked up about something and she's here. But why?'

"Molly, would you like to come in?"

"Would I- what?"

"Would you like to come in?"

"Y-sure." Her tune changed quickly as he guided her gently to the couch and sat across from her.

"Why did you come here?"

"I-I don't know."

"You called me some names. Have I upset you?"

"No- Yes! Yes you have!"

"What have a done, Molly? Tell me. What did I do?" He remained calm.

"You never see me! You never care about my feelings or anyone else's, but yours! And you- you just uggh!" Her words were sloppy at best. Sherlock nodded his head and looked at her.

"Molly?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry. I never meant… I never mean to hurt you. You're different than everyone else."

"Different?"

"Yes. You don't annoy me like everyone else. Even John, he's agreeable. My best friend even, but you, Molly Hooper, are different."

"How?"

"We should talk in the morning. You'll have to stay here. I have a spare set of clothes for you to sleep in." He rushed up to his room and pulled out some of his nightclothes.

"Put these o-" he stopped mid-sentence as he found her asleep on the couch. He thought for a moment before scooping her up and carrying her upstairs. He laid her gently on his bed and slid the shoes off her feet. They were a loan like the dress and half a size too big for her. He didn't dare try to put the clothes on her.

"Molly…" he whispered. She stirred slightly. "Molly, can you put these clothes on? It'll be more comfortable." She began to slide her dress off of herself and Sherlock quickly ducked into the hallway.

"Molly? Are you decent?"

"Mm," was the only sound he heard. He took the risk and reentered the room. She had managed to dress herself alright. Her dress was in a pile on the floor near her shoes and she had the buttons on the shirt in the wrong holes, but she was still- and Sherlock loathed to admit it- very pretty.

He noticed how small she was compared to him. Of course it was always obvious she was smaller, but seeing her in his clothes made she seem so small. Needing almost...

"If you need anything, I'll just be down the stairs."

"Sher-Sherlock…" she mumbled. "Thank you. But… I do need something."

"What?"

"You. Pretty please. Lay here."

"Miss Hooper, I hardly think that would be appropriate in this situation."

"Oh… alright." She gave these, these blasted little puppy dog eyes. Sherlock Holmes melted. Sherlock Holmes did not melt. But for her, he did.

"I- uh- suppose if I were to lay on the other side, it wouldn't be so bad." Molly have a happy little sigh and patted the bed for him to come next to her. So he did.

He stayed as far away from her as possible because he knew her sober self would not like this in the morning after seeing how mad she was earlier. However, his attempts were futile when she crawled close and fit herself under his shoulder, neatly tucked in with her head on his chest. "I really don't think-"

"Shh, you don't let me be so nice to you all the time," she said in a small, distant voice. Soon she was too far asleep to be woken again.

"Good night, Molly Hooper." He allowed himself to try something. Just once. Only time. He left a small kiss on her forehead.

-

Molly Hooper couldn't have been more confused. Where was she? What on Earth was she wearing? Where were her clothes?

"I can answer your questions." A deep, familiar voice seemed to read her mind.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes. Very good. Memory, how is it? Foggy I presume?"

"Y-yes. Where am I?"

"My bedroom." He stepped in from the hall with two cups of coffee. She took hers and nodded thanks.

"Why am I here?"

"You came here. Called me a bastard, cried your heart out about me hating you, I shared a few words that I knew you wouldn't remember, you fell asleep so I brought you here to sleep."

"Oh... I see. Where are my clothes? Sherlock we didn't!"

"No. No, no. Please, Miss Hooper, just lie down. Your clothes are in the wash. Figured you want to return them clean."

"Oh. I didn't mean to call you those horrible things… I-I don't remember…"

"It's okay. I understand. I see things the way you do now. And I'm sorry." Molly couldn't help but beam at the man.

"Oh Sherlock…"

"Don't say it. You were upset. I really am sorry."

Molly looked at him for a moment before deciding to give him a small hug, which he returned but tighter.

"Sherlock… what else happened last night?"

"Well you insisted I sleep with you." The pathologist blushed scarlet and spluttered unintelligently until Sherlock realized his mistake. "No! I mean, next to you. In the bed but just asleep. Just… asleep…"

"Oh. Oh I see. Okay."

"Yes. I feel inclined to let you know. that when I lied down you decided to, as I heard you mumble, 'snuggle.'"

A blush crept up her neck again. "I am... Sorry about that... I don't know-"

"No need to apologize. I didn't do much to attempt to stop you so it is as much my fault as yours. I suppose you should also know that I planted one small kiss on your forehead as you slept."

"Y-you did?"

"As an experiment, yes I did," he replied, showing no emotion. Her heart sank, just a little.

"And what was the conclusion to that experiment," she inquired, surprising herself with no stutter.

"I have sentimental feelings for you, Molly Hooper."

She beamed at the deducing detective and it was then that he realized what came after pathologist in his mind palace. "Molly Hooper- pathologist and so much more"


End file.
